Christmas in Absaroka, Continued
by ShinyObjects
Summary: Continuations of Craig Johnson's short Christmas stories. Each chapter is a continuation, or Part 2, of a different short story.
1. The Percentages, cont'd

Christmas in Absaroka, Continued

All I do is copy Craig Johnson. (And when I say "copy" I do not mean word-for-word, I mean I find inspiration in his stories, as do all Fan Fic authors). Every Christmas, for a few years now, he writes a short story and emails it to his newsletter subscribers on Christmas Eve. The stories are a nice treat while we wait for the next novel. Most of the stories are glimpses into Walt's life. There isn't nearly enough Vic in most of them, and a decided lack of Walt/Vic action, much to my dismay. So… what Mr. Johnson does not provide, I feel compelled to add. So far, I have two Part 2's. If I think of more, I'll add them as additional chapters.

Add'l note: since I'm inspired by Mr. Johnson, these are written more in the book universe than the TV realm. So if you've only watched the show, the timelines/relationships/situations may not match up just right.

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The Percentages, cont'd.

"Did you know only 11% of newlyweds are over 50 years old?"

"Shut up, Walt."

The Terror was sitting on my lap, making quick work of unbuttoning my shirt and mussing my hair. Despite her overwhelming presence, I was still obsessing over an article I'd read in a magazine for "senior adults" I'd found at the airport while waiting for the three loves of my live to return from Philadelphia. Cady invited us to stay at her place in Cheyenne, but both Vic and I were anxious to be back home with no one else around. A week away was too long, as far as I was concerned.

"It's just that, reasonably speaking, the chances of success for a new relationship at this age …"

"I'm not over 50," she needlessly pointed out while unclasping my belt. Boy howdy.

"Only two thirds of Baby Boomers are married. Over half have been divorced, and almost a third have never married at all."

She ceased the attention her lips were giving my neck and gave me the look that indicated she was about out of patience. "Have you been reading Huffington Post again? And who says we're getting married?"

"Well, after all that talk of hearth and home … I mean, we haven't discussed it lately, but …" I stopped to collect my thoughts, which wasn't easy since Vic was now unbuttoning her shirt while locking those tarnished gold eyes on mine. I shifted a bit and pushed her hips just a bit away from mine before continuing. "It's just that, this past week, and any time you're away… I miss you more every time. It's made me realize I don't want to be away from you. I want you here all the time." She didn't interrupt, so I continued. "Like I said before, I've tried to do things your way, but I'm not crazy about being with you just part-time. I know you like your independence, but would you consider moving in here?"

She sat very still and quiet before answering. "So what's up with the Percentages of Doom? Those sound like someone trying to talk their way out of a relationship, not deeper into it."

She had a point. "I guess, while I want you here, I also want us to know what we're getting into. Life with an old fart like me won't be easy."

She smiled her lopsided smile and raised an eyebrow. "Old fart? You know I don't think of you that way. You are tougher, and sexier, than any man I've ever known." She leaned in close, pressing her lips to my ear. "And you are a better lover, too." Her breath and her words sent electricity down my spine. "Besides," she continued, "there are plenty of reasons for the over-50 crowd to get married."

"You mean other than the sex," I couldn't help but mention.

"Yes, other than that." She moved off my lap and onto the coffee table, leaning forward to pull off her boots. "Insurance is generally cheaper for married couples."

"Is that so?" I managed, while getting an eyeful of breasts.

"Yes. Not to mention sharing living expenses is a bonus, and sometimes necessary, for older couples." With this, she stood and turned her back to me, straddling my feet and leaning over to pull of my boots. This time the view was of her jean-glad backside and words wouldn't form in my brain, much less come out my mouth.

She returned to my lap, squeezing my thighs between hers. "And for you and me," she returned to unbuttoning my shirt, "being married might lend an element of legitimacy to our relationship, which might help win over your constituents who are less-than-supportive of your involvement with your deputy."

"Did you just use the word 'legitimacy' in a sentence?" I said with smirk.

"Shut up, Longmire," she mumbled as she pressed her lips to mine.

"You left out two other very good reasons," I managed, while grasping those jean-covered thighs. "Hospital visits and medical decisions. For married couples, hospital visits aren't restricted and spouses are consulted on medical decisions." I lifted her off my lap and laid her on the couch, laying between her thighs.

"I love it when you talk dirty," she giggled as I pressed my lips her throat. "Was that one reason or two?"

"That was one." I managed to pull away so I could see her face. I studied her and lightly played my fingers across her lips. "Love. When you love someone, you want them around. All the time. It's probably selfish, but I want you here, on my couch, in my bed, underfoot and in the way… all the time." She was smiling back at me, with no hint of annoyance or frustration. "Besides, percentages show that people in a loving relationship live longer."

"Well, here's to the percentages," she offered with a big smile, pulling my lips to hers.


	2. Several Stations, cont'd

The second in my series of continuations of Craig Johnson's Christmas stories. I love his short stories and always wish they were longer and included more Vic. This is a series of scenes inspired by his stories. You don't have to read the short story "Several Stations" in the collection titled "Wait for Signs," but it helps. In that story, Vic is visiting family in Philly while Walt watches over the county on a snowy Christmas Eve. They talk on the phone briefly and he asks her to call him later. This is that phone call.

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Several Stations, cont'd.

The wreckers finally showed up to deal with our twisted, sideways semi and I was finally able to make it back to the station. With the roads the way they were and the snow still falling, I couldn't risk going home to the cabin. I resigned myself to staying in the office for at least one more night, until the storm broke and I had staff back on duty.

I changed into dry clothes and washed up in blessedly warm water. Feeling more human, I began to think about Vic. When talking to her earlier via Sancho's cell phone, I told her I'd be at the station and asked her to call me. I wanted to hear her voice and all about her family adventures, but doubted that would happen. The cleanup took longer than predicted and I was pretty sure she was fast asleep by now.

As I was trying to decide between the terrible cot in the cell or the uncomfortable couch in my office, the phone rang. I recognized a Philadelphia area code and picked up the phone on my desk, knowing the cord would stretch to the couch.

"Absaroka County Sheriff Department," I answered automatically, and in case my suspicions about the person on the other end of the line were wrong.

"I'd like to report a missing person." Her voice was low, sultry, and quiet, like she'd been drinking very smooth whiskey. I imagined her curled up by a fire, a warm blanket wrapped around her. The sound and the image made my heart sputter a bit, not sure if it could reconcile the lure of the image with the sad fact that she was so far away.

I matched her low tone, trying to keep the conversation intimate despite the distance. "Could you describe this missing person?"

"Female. Mid-thirties. Height, weight, hair, eyes – all average. Big chip on her shoulder, classic smart-ass know-it-all, hell of a cop and a crack shot. Curses like a sailor, some would say."

I couldn't help but smile at the description. "I know someone a bit like that, but the woman I have in mind is in no way average." As I talked, I turned out the desk lamp and stretched out on the couch, throwing a scratchy wool blanket over me. "What makes you think said person is missing?"

"Because she's not where she's supposed to be."

I took a few breaths, savoring the sound of her voice, before I answered. "And where's that?"

"A little cabin perched on the edge of a frozen, god-forsaken valley, twenty miles outside of nowhere in one of the flyover states … with a fire in the fireplace, doors shut against the wind, and her legs wrapped around the local law man."

She sure could paint a picture. I smiled again, forgetting she couldn't see me. The thought that Vic was admitting she should be with me was a better present than I'd hoped for. "Any ideas how we can get our missing person back where she belongs?"

"Yes. In fact, it's taken care of. There's a flight out tomorrow night, if you're willing to pick me up in Billings."

As much as I wanted to see her, I had to acknowledge this was too soon. "Tomorrow is Christmas. You traveled all that way, you might as well spend the whole day with your family."

She sighed a slow sigh. "What am I doing here, Walt? I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I keep traipsing back here every Christmas like some kind of college kid on break. I'm in my late thirties, for Christ's sake. It's about time I started making my own traditions."

I couldn't argue with her logic, and certainly didn't want to argue the fact that she wanted to be with me, but I wanted her to have time with her family, too. Families are important, functional or not. "Did you make it to your folks' house yet?"

"No, I'm still at Alphonse's, but I talked to mom on the phone. I'm headed over early in the morning. Promised her I'd be there for breakfast."

"Good." Vic had a love/hate relationship with her mother - a dynamic I couldn't begin to understand. "Did you tell her…?" I couldn't bring myself to put words to the subject. Like her, I was still feeling the loss.

"About the pregnancy? No. But I will. I'll find time tomorrow."

"Okay then." My mind went back to that image of the two of us by the fire in my cabin. "Tell you what. Spend at least 24 hours with your parents. Check up on all those brothers and uncles of yours, and I'll pick you up at whatever airport you like in the lower 48. Then we can get you and those legs back where they belong. Deal?"

"Deal."

I wasn't ready to hang up and just held on to the phone, listening to the sound of her breathing as it traveled the many miles across all those flyover states to reach me.

"And Walt?"

"Yeah."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Vic."


	3. Firebird, cont'd

The third in my series of continuations of Craig Johnson's Christmas stories. I love his short stories and always wish they had more Vic, so this series is made of additional scenes for those stories. This one is a missing scene in the short story "Firebird" in the collection titled "Wait for Signs." In most of CJ's Christmas stories, Vic is always off visiting family in Philly while Walt watches over the county. That makes me terribly sad, because I always want more Vic in every story, and I love the Walt/Vic relationship in the books. So, since Mr. Johnson left Deputy Moretti out of this story, except for a brief mention of her boobs (insert eye roll here), I decided to fix it with a phone call.

If you don't want to find and read CJ's story, here's all you need to know: It's New Year's Eve and Walt is drinking whiskey and playing chess with Lucian in the common room at the Durant Home for Assisted Living. The first line of this is Mr. Johnson's, so you know where this scene interrupts his. So pour yourself some Pappy Van Winkle's, or maybe some Lagavulin, and join us.

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Girl on Fire

Missing scene from 'Firebird'

I took the two glasses to the table and sat a tumbler at the old sheriff's elbow, on the left where he liked it. "Well thank Christ for that, and the fact they don't have those damn Christmas carols playing." He took a nip and cast a dark eye toward me.

"Lucian, if you don't like the communal area, then you shouldn't have set fire to your room."

"I didn't set fire to my damned room!" I was sorry I'd brought it up.

Just then one of what Lucian called the minimum-wage morons approached me with a phone. "Sheriff? Phone call for you." That was odd, since I had the department line patched through to my portable radio, which sat quietly on the table next to Lucian's glass and my captured chess pieces.

"Longmire."

"WALT!"

I looked at my watch. 10:02 pm mountain standard time, or 12:02 am, January 1, eastern time. I could hear loud music in the background, but it didn't sound like Guy Lombardo.

"Deputy Moretti, I presume." I got up from the chair, moving farther from the volunteer Dixieland combo and closer to the phone's base unit, where I hoped to find a door I could close between me and the senior citizen revelers.

"Walt! Oh my god, I'm going to KILL your daughter! Or my brother. No… both of them, I'm definitely going to kill both of them. Send my apologies to my mother, will you?" The sound of whatever club she was in receded and I couldn't help but smile at her slightly slurred words.

"Where are you?"

"I have NO idea." Well that's not what I wanted to hear. "I mean, I know... I just… I have no idea what the name is or how the HELL I let Michael and Cady talk me into coming here. And by the way, Walt, I now know waaaaaaaay too much about your daughter. That girl is … wait. Never mind. I think I promised not to tell." I wasn't sure, but she sounded like she was trying to keep from being sick.

"Are you okay? You're not alone, are you?" I mean, I know Vic's an adult, and a cop, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself in her own hometown, but thinking about her drunk and on her own in that city wasn't a thought that made me very comfortable.

"No, no, Michael and Cady are here. In fact, I can see them making out from where I'm standing. Which is what they've been doing ALL NIGHT. Geez, you'd think they were high school kids at a prom."

"That's really not something I wanted to know," I said while covering my face with my hand, trying to wipe the image from my mind.

"Right?! I mean seriously, they have a home, for Christ's sake. Oh! And cousin Vince is here. His girlfriend just broke up with him, so yeah, he's a real joy to be with tonight. God, Walt, I miss you. How's Durant? How's everything? Tell me something boring, please. Where are you? What are you doing?"

"What makes you think where I am and what I'm doing is boring?" I could practically hear her roll her eyes. "I happen to be at an actual party. I'm at the Durant Home for Assisted Living. Lucian got kicked out of his room, so I'm here keeping him out of trouble …"

"Lucian's there? Put him on! Let me say hi!" She interrupted me with more enthusiasm than I've ever heard from her, except for that time I almost let her shoot at a fleeing vehicle.

"No, I'm not putting him on. You hate Lucian. And he'd just ask you what you're wearing in that lecherous voice he saves just for you, which is why you hate him."

"Oh yeah. The prick. Fine. You're going to have to entertain me, then. Ask me what I'm wearing." Her tone was a bit conspiratorial, like she had a secret. I looked out the window of the reception desk to see if anyone was within earshot. Seeing no one, I played along.

"Okay, I'll bite. What are you wearing?" I felt like a lonely old fool on a 976 number.

My undersheriff giggled, actually giggled, before answering. "Well! I'm wearing a dress. Like a real one. Borrowed from cousin Veronica. She and Cady dressed me. It's silver. And shiny. It's a sheath dress, so it's fitted." She sighed, then added a bit coyly, "If you had a cell phone, I could take a picture and send it to you. But oh well. Guess you're just going to have to imagine it." She dragged that last part out, knowingly playing with me.

Unfortunately for me, I could image quite a bit. Also unfortunate for me, my mind jumped to practical matters. "Where's your weapon?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

She laughed a real laugh this time. "Ha! Wouldn't you like to know?" But she couldn't stop herself from adding, "It's right where I like my weapons … between my thighs" she stretched out the sentence seductively, doing her best to tease me. "Actually, that's right where I like YOUR weapon…" she was back to laughing, not able to stop herself.

Despite the laughter, the image and her teasing had the desired effect. My body reacted to the image of her in the tight dress. I was going to have to stay at that reception desk longer than I had planned.

"Take a picture anyway. You can show it to me when you get home."

She giggled again. While I listened and tried to imagine a well-dressed, drunk Vic, a raspy and irritated voice interrupted.

"Troop! You expect me to wait all night for your next move?" Lucian had found me. He and his glass of Pappy's filled the doorway. I tried to cover the receiver, but Vic had already heard him, and he heard her exclamation of "Lucian!" bleed through the earpiece.

Lucian looked genuinely pleased. "Is that the lovely and well-endowed Undersheriff I hear? Lemme say 'hi'" he reached for the phone. Since arguing with either of them is a chore, I decided arguing with both of them would be a waste of energy. I handed over the phone.

"Felicitations for the New Year, dear deputy. Just what are you up to tonight? Please describe it in scrumptious detail, starting with your attire, please," he growled in his best millionaire voice, the voice that had served him well for decades.

I could hear Vic giggle and answer, but couldn't make out the words. I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed the laughter as the two of them sparred, equal partners in their verbal game. The conversation ended with Vic promising to spend next New Year's Eve with us. Lucian handed back the phone. "Lovely girl, that one. Don't know what she sees in you." He winked as he exited to return to his chessboard.

I don't know, either, but I'm sure grateful she sees something. "You made two old men smile tonight" I said when I had her back. She giggled again. "So what are the chances of you keeping that dress and letting me see it in person?"

She was quieter now, sobered up quite a bit from just a few minutes ago. "I'll see what I can do." She practically purred in a low tone, and my blood stirred again. "If I'm successful, just where do you imagine I'd wear it? You gonna take me out for a big night at the Steak N Shake in Sheridan?" She laughed at her own joke.

"I was thinking more about a private event, at a remote cabin with a view. A place I could remove said dress and see exactly where it is you'd like my weapon." Even I was embarrassed at that, but it was worth it for the peals of laughter that were flooding through the phone. She even snorted, to my immense satisfaction.

"And how about the ridiculously impractical shoes that come with the dress? Do I need to bring those, too?"

"Good god, yes, please." I was enjoying the playfulness of the conversation and marveled at her ability to take me there. This woman surprised me every day. My smile grew bigger at the thought of what surprises might wait in the future.

We were both silent for a minute, neither of us wanting to go. "Thank you, Vic."

"For what, giving you a hard on from 2000 miles away?" There was the sarcasm I was used to.

"No, for making me laugh." I didn't do that enough. "Do you know that I love you, Victoria Moretti?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I'm still going to want you to prove it every now and then."

God, I was a lucky man. "You got it." I feel like I could hear her smile, then another thought occurred to me.

"Does everyone in your family have names that start with 'V'?"


End file.
